A PUZZLE FOR MIGUEL.
There was no train from Newport that night by the time the Princess
Laura Marcos, mother of the wounded prince, got the telephone message
from Miguel, and she did not feel equal to motoring the distance at
night.
By eleven o’clock the next morning, however, she stood in the library
at Crownledge, talking to Miguel. He had met her at the station, and
though he had not been a welcome visitor at Crownledge heretofore, he
had brought her to her home now as a matter of course.
Claudia had met her Aunt Laura at the door, and had said that she was
staying at Crownledge to help take care of the gentleman who had been
hurt in the grounds at Crownledge.
The princess had wondered why Claudia spoke of her cousin in such a
peculiar way. “The gentleman who has been hurt” did not sound as if
there were much cousinly affection.
But, then, Claudia Solado had quarreled with Marcos several times, and
probably they had had a tiff now. That would accent for it.
“Of course,” murmured his mother to herself. “I never knew two young
people who liked each other who were not always quarreling. That does
not mean anything. Still, considering the poor boy is sick----”
Claudia had slipped out of the room, saying she wanted to tell the
trained nurse that her patient’s mother was coming up.
The nurse had never been told the name of her patient. She had heard
him vaguely spoken of as ‘Marcos,’ but she had caught it as ‘Marsh.’
Indeed, she had asked Claudia, after the departure of Nick Carter, if
that was the name, to which the girl, inspired by a sudden idea, had
replied in the affirmative.
Claudia went into the bedchamber, and telling the nurse that a lady had
come to visit the patient, went to the bed and bent over her cousin.
“Marcos!”
“Yes?”
“Your mother is here.”
“Who sent for her?”
“I don’t know. But Miguel is downstairs.”
Marcus started up in bed, but, catching the reproving eye of the nurse,
he fell back again, and permitting that cool-handed, nerveless person
to rearrange the covers. Then he turned to Claudia and whispered:
“How dare that scoundrel come into my home?”
“I’ll find that out for you later. But listen to me.”
“Go on.”
“When your mother comes in, don’t recognize her. You are a Mr. Marsh,
and you were coming to see Mr. Marcos, who went out of town last night.
Do you understand all that?”
“Of course I do. Now that Miguel is here, I know that all kinds of
deceit has to be practiced to get the better of him. Well, I’d do
anything for the sake of my beloved country. Better get that nurse out
of the room.”
“She’s gone. She won’t come back till after the interview. I’ll take
care of that,” the girl assured him.
Now that Claudia had attended to one side of the affair, she had to
look after the other. She must find an opportunity to whisper a warning
to her Aunt Laura.
She went back to the library and beckoned to her aunt. Miguel was about
to walk forward with the princess, but something in Claudia’s eye
warned her. So she coolly stepped away from him and stood alone by a
window, with the girl.
The hint that they wanted to speak to each other confidentially was too
positive for Miguel to pretend to misunderstand, although he would have
given a great deal to know what they intended to talk about.
So short was the conference, however, that he felt sure nothing of
importance had passed between them.
“Do not recognize Marcos, aunt,” whispered Claudia. “Beware of Miguel.
I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Who is it in bed, then?”
“It is Marcos. But pretend you don’t know him. He is supposed to be a
Mr. Marsh.”
“I understand.”
The Princess Marcos, mother of the ruler of Joyalita, did understand.
She was an able, quick-thinking woman of the world, and she had
seen enough of diplomacy and statesmanship to make her much more
sophisticated than the average woman of mere society.
Claudia led the way up the broad, old-fashioned staircase, followed by
Miguel and the princess.
Claudia softly opened the door of the bedchamber, and stood aside to
let her Aunt Laura enter.
Miguel followed the princess, and Claudia went in last, closing the
door after her.
The only occupants of the room were the three persons who had just
entered and the quiet figure in the bed. He held a hand over his face,
as if he could not bear even the dim light of the chamber. A white
bandage was around his forehead.
“Remember, aunt!” whispered Claudia, in her ear. “Mr. Marsh! You do not
know him. Miguel would not believe me, so I have not told him.”
The princess walked over to the bed, saying “Marcos! My boy!” As she
reached the bedside, she stopped in well-simulated astonishment, and,
looking around, asked: “Why, Claudia, who is this gentleman?”
“It is Mr. Marsh. He is a friend of Marcos’. Who did you expect to see?”
“I thought it was Marcos,” was the answer.
“Marcos, aunt? Why, how could that be? Marcos went to Joyalita
yesterday. He was sorry to go, because he would have liked to stay
with Mr. Marsh. As it was, he gave orders that Mr. Marsh should be
carefully attended until able to get up safely.”
“I am very sorry, sir,” said Marcos’ mother, turning again to the bed.
“I thought it was my son. But I should not possess natural humanity, if
I did not sympathize very heartily with you, even though I have never
met you before. I trust you will soon be restored to health.”
“Thank you, madam!” returned Marcos quietly.
She gave him a graceful bow and walked toward the door, without even
looking back.
What it cost her to do this only she knew. But she had a part to play
for the benefit of her beloved son, even though she did not understand
why, and she nerved herself to go through it to the end.
As she went out, Miguel looked at the bed. Disheveled, with the
water-soaked bandage around his brow to allay the fever and relieve his
aching head, Marcos did not look like himself.
“Confound him! I can’t swear to him!” muttered Miguel. “Did Marcos go
to Joyalita? Did he, or didn’t he?”
Outside the sick room the three walked down to the library, where
Prince Miguel bowed, and expressed his sorrow to have brought the
princess from Newport on a misunderstanding. Then he walked out to his
taxicab and told the driver to speed downtown as fast as he could.
When Miguel had gone, Laura turned to her aunt with admiration and
pleasure shining in her eyes.
“You were splendid, aunt. If Miguel had ever found out that this was
really Marcos, he would have known that the person representing him who
has gone to Joyalita could not be he. That would have meant all kinds
of trouble for Marcos and Joyalita, too.”
But before she had finished, the mother was upstairs again, bending
over her son and asking him what it all meant.